One of the coolest guys in Rome.

This accordionist is on Ponte Sisto just about every weekend morning, facing the sun, his body heaving to and fro to the music. He's completely rapt with pleasure while playing. I was finally able to get a photo of him.

The series so far.

Frustrazione.

Back in the studio and hitting the usual "ruin it" phase of painting. Just take a look at the dour expression on my face.

Notes on Greece and Istanbul.

I am including below a note to a friend back in the States. It features some thoughts on my recent travels to Greece and Turkey.

*   *   *

Davide, caro amico!

Grace arrived home last night and among the treasures she brought from the States was your thoughtful Christmas card. Thanks so much. She delivered the goods because I opted out of a trip home this Christmas, deciding instead to use the time for some much needed exploration of other places in Europe. I headed to Greece and Istanbul for 11 days and, while the weather could have been better (especially in Crete, where the temps are sometimes in the upper 60's in winter) I had a fantastic time. A friend from Rome came with me and we shared a lot of laughs, along with too much coffee and honey-drenched, Turkish pastries. I've regained a bit of my 46 year-old paunch after months of gym and running had trimmed it to respectable proportions. Alas, it's back to the square one and as I write this note I am readying myself for an hour at the gym, prepared for the humbling realization that I have a bit of work to do.

Being in a fundamentally Muslim country for the holidays was intriguing, and we explored Istanbul at dawn on Christmas day, following the somewhat haunting call to prayer as the sun rose over the Blue Mosque and Hagia Sofia. We also subjected ourselves to the joys of a hamam—a 15th century Turkish bath in which I was lathered up beyond recognition, had every joint, tendon and muscle brutalized and was tossed around like a slippery fish on a slab of marble by a half-naked, 250-lb Turk, whose only words to me were "you leave tip." I'll never forget this experience.

Turkish and Greek food was fantastic, primarily because of its pronounced difference from Roman fare. Every once in a while I go in mad search of a hamburger, which usually costs me the equivalent of about 18 US dollars. I've never been much of a foodie anyway, and while I enjoy stracceti e rucola, saltimbocca alla romana, and spaghetti alla carbonara as much as the next guy, the reiteration of these dishes on every menu in the city has me wanting a little variety.

Back to the trip. We managed to take an inspiring hike in the mountains outside of Chania in Crete, accompanied by dozens of goats, whose distant, melancholy bells defined the space around us. We came upon an ancient chapel built into the side of a hill and found a dead goat inside, along with makeshift preparations for offerings such as oil, candles and incense. We visited Knossos (what an insulting "reconstruction!") and I was thrilled to make the journey to the Dikteon cave, the supposed birthplace of Zeus. We were the only visitors there, and the constant rain made the experience even more chthonian as we were many meters inside the earth, surrounded by the sound of dripping water and light reflected in dark pools and on the surface of organic rock formations. We spent several days in Athens as well, and I really enjoyed placing King Aegeus on the steps of the Temple of Athena Nike on the Acropolis, scanning the horizon for the white sails of Theseus' ship and finally ending his own life over a tragic misconception. The Archaeological Museum was great as well, and I saw many beautiful sculptures that I'd studied for years in books. In Athens we stumbled on a confrontation between riot police and protesters, who tipped over a police car in the middle of the street. We missed the peak of violence in the city, but I was sternly advised by a young woman to delete the pictures I took of her companion, who had spray-painted anarchistic graffiti on a wall.

I haven't done a tremendous amount of traveling while here but now that the end is in sight I am considering a couple of essential trips centered on museums. Berlin and Madrid are the most important to me, given the art holdings, but I'm also interested in Prague, Vienna, Cairo and Morocco—the latter because it's where my parents met in 1954 or so. Who knows if I will be able to do it all, but I need to try my best.  I am not sure when I will have the opportunity to be so close to this stuff again, so I think I should stay on a while after the job is done, perhaps living with a friend for a couple of extra months in order to see a few more of the world's great places.

I'm on sabbatical next year and I've begun a series of paintings here, trying to take advantage of my huge studio and the wealth of precedents surrounding me. I have scheduled a show of new paintings at the Cenci in May, so I have my work cut out for me, although I am off to a good start, I think. I was on a roll but the job sometimes consumes a lot of my attention and this means putting my painting on a back burner for a few weeks at a time. 

And you? How are things? How is Lois? And Marjorie? Who will be department head next year? How is the search for a new colleague going? I am privy to vague stirrings from Jon and Melissa now and then, but wonder how their independent lives are taking shape. I think often of you and I have fallen out of touch with everyone—Susan, Jean, Jon, Mel, Nick, Fritz. 

I've been up for hours now and while I could write much more I should prepare myself for the pains of the gym, surrounded by cruel mirrors and tiresome disco music at 8:30 am, Roman time. Later in the day, I'll head out for a trot with my friend Johnny who, at 32, runs circles around me. Another cup of coffee and a self-administered pep talk and I'm ready for action.

Thanks again for the card, dear friend. Please fill me in on life back home.

All the best,
R

Icons

I was enlisted last week for a quick freelance job, which I did over the weekend. I havea busy week ahead so I didn't have a lot of time to fuss over them. Some I like (Poe) some I don't (the quaint sunflower and tomato, meant to represent a farmer's market in Providence).

New progress.

I think I am finally able to visually articulate my intentions. This is a new painting, about 100 x 100 cm (3.28 feet square). It's unfinished but I am glad to see that I've been able to do what I want to do after a lot of failure.

Sock it to me.

A new effort here. My intentions aren't really clear, and—as I told Tomaz today—it's in the "ruination phase." I murmured to myself on the way home this afternoon that every act of creation includes destruction and while this idea is exciting it's also frustrating. Every painting starts from zero it seems, and it feels like an entirely new set of variables. This is an intriguing, eternal challenge, but sometimes I wish it would just get a little easier.

I had an interesting talk today with Ezio about the whole group of things. He was reassuring, and volunteered some enthusiasm. I trust his word—having worked with him for a while I don't think he's one to blow smoke. That gave me a little boost.

I had been telling Tomaz that I am really feeling a little panicked about how there's no common language in anything. I am describing volcanoes, but never the same way twice. I am describing boats, but with a different vocabulary every time. I wrote this to Tomaz today:

I talked with you a bit about the need for some consistency in my work. I don't regret having explored different visual languages and I'm not a big proponent of style, but I think I am so "all over the map" right now that it's a bit of a problem. Take the three paintings of boats, for example. The fact that I never use the same "vocabulary" to describe the boat seems to show a lack of certainty or dedication to an idea. It's just skimming the surface:

http://robertbrinkerhoff.blogspot.com/2008/08/running-4.html

See what I mean?

Same with the volcanoes. It's obvious that I am still in an investigative mode, still trying to figure out how to show something, how to say something. And if a person doesn't have fluency of "language" how can he artfully form thoughts without drawing so much attention to the flair of the language? If the voice is changing so often, I think the attention will be on the voice, rather than the message.

I mentioned to you that this is a persistent problem of mine: I seem to either be on a quest for the best voice/language, and unable to formulate a body of work which ultimately says something in its consistency.

An analogy: imagine reading a book by a writer who is telling a story but who constantly changes voice or even language. That's what I think I am doing Tomaz. At the same time I am loathe to commit to any sort of consistency which would indicate an attention to "style" over substance—which would seem to read as a convenient "bag of tricks." This is the shit I need to sort out. It's what most painters refer to as "fetishizing."

Un'altro cambio, ancora.

A couple minor changes in response to Elizabeth's comments about the source of the eruption.

Cambio.

I changed things drastically. I just couldn't stomach the way it was turning out. Here's the reworked canvas and a detail—some new iconography that interests me.

Grazie miei amici.

Haven't yet addressed the issues Elizabeth has mentioned below (all good points, thanks) but I think I have begun to work on the hierarchy, per Rich's gracious and intelligent suggestions. 

Speak up.

These images always reproduce with such lackluster surface here, no matter how much I try to compensate by hiking up contrast etc. Here's the latest phase of a new painting, and I'm eager to hear opinions. I am trying to limit the palette significantly because I feel like there's a disconnect in previous efforts between the nature of what I'm showing and the color relationships embedded in the imagery. So this one is a volcano, and the volcano and everything around it is affected by the essence of volcanoes—heat.

These are paintings of volcanoes. On two occasions, people have failed to see the subject matter and this is a little unnerving.

Someone recently remarked that my work is somewhat dark. I think that in some ways that's a welcome description, since I have been struggling to grow more accepting of my propensity for cartoonish form and a little darkness may compensate for what could tip the scales toward frivolity. I don't know if it's my relatively primitive method of painting, the manifestation of impulses that shouldn't be denied or something else, but I feel like I need some clarity about the way I am painting. 

Something new.

This is a little larger, about 3.25 feet square.

I went to the Jean-Michel Basquiat show today. His impulsive use of materials and incredible gift for form and design was really inspiring. I agonize over trivial details, get myself into fastidious snits both conceptually and materially.

Finito.

I'm calling this done. For now. The contrast looks very dull, and it's a bit more vibrant than indicated in this image but I am tired of fussing with it.

Sono tornato.

Ezio and I had a great dinner last night at the American Academy. Those folks consistently deliver: good company—smart, earnest people with fascinating intentions.

Next week promises a return to the studio—no two ways about it. The freelance work and tour necessitated some delays and then we arrived home with a seriously injured student, who fractured her vertebra with a 35 ft jump from a cliff into the water in Riomaggiore. She's hospitalized and will have surgery this weekend.

We're almost halfway through the semester. I am sad to think about leaving Rome behind.

A few photos from the tour:

Blow-by-blow, below.

Sketches, process and finish for an article about the Governor's falling popularity. At one point the author asserts that he's a bit of a cowboy, but without much success, hence the wild west imagery in a few.

Eight places. Wait, make that ten.

Gym

1:10

Treadmill, free weights.

Someone asked me recently to identify eight favorite meditative spots in Rome, places which might facilitate focused introspection and rejuvenation. I have to confess that I'm not really the silently meditative kind and I have a little trouble keeping still. While I regret this aspect of my personality, it comes with the territory, so there you go.

This doesn't mean I'm not a thoughtful person who seeks and finds inspiration in quiet reflection. I like to write when it's time to sort out my thoughts; and rather than finding answers in motionlessness, I tend to use the rhythm of walking, running or the systematic making of things to figure things out. I get a lot from physical experience. I guess I prefer a significant amount of sensory input when questioning things.

I confess that while I had hoped to collect a ton of photos myself for this travelogue, I haven't had time to shoot everything listed. So I'm filching some of these pictures from the internet and hoping they'll do justice to the promise of these places. I shot Piazza Mattei and the bottles in the river. The rest are the products of my thievery.

Eight places isn't a lot in a city as wonderful as Rome so I'm upping the ante to ten, in no particular order.

• The Pantheon.
It's a stone's throw from the apartment, and the Pantheon at any time of day is a great kick in the ass when you're feeling put upon in life. It's a truly phenomenal testament to the genius and resourcefulness of mankind and I challenge anyone to say "I can't" when considering this achievement. I sometimes bring a cup of coffee to the piazza and sit on the steps of the fountain in the morning, facing the temple. It's especially beautiful on a cool, cloudy morning in winter, when the gray color of the stone, the pavement, the sky—everything in sight—elide harmonically. At night, when the piazza is filled with exhausted tourists, the lights are beautiful.












• Fontana dell'Acqua Paola.
While everyone else is clamoring for photo opportunities at the Trevi Fountain in the center, the Fontana dell'Acqua Paola on the Gianicolo offers a stunning vista of the city with a grand backdrop of gushing water, lit masterfully at night and cooling the atmosphere while the sun is high in the sky. Go at dusk and plan to spend a little time like the two-faced god Janus (after which Gianicolo was named), gazing out on the domes below and turning 180 degrees to watch the cascade. It's a bit of a walk (about a mile) from my place, but it's well worth the effort.


















• Piazza Mattei.
Just outside the Jewish Ghetto (where you can observe some great neighborhood dynamics among young and old), this spot has two great things going for it: the Tartaruga fountain with four youths languidly reaching for Bernini-crafted turtles and a little place called Bartaruga. If you have the money to spend, get a glass of wine and sit outside. It helps if you have company (at least to split the bill). A couple of glasses of wine cost about €14, which is pretty high in my opinion, but you're paying for the atmosphere. The interior of the bar is pretty kitsch, but very comfortable with an opportunity for intimate conversation and the people inside are very nice.














• San Luigi dei Francesi.
Near the Pantheon (with your back to the Pantheon turn left at the far end of the piazza) San Luigi dei Francesi is the parish of the French Catholic community in Rome. The exterior could use a good cleaning, but perfection awaits inside. The last chapel on the left holds three large Caravaggio paintings chronicling the story of St. Matthew. It's always crowded but well worth the visit.


















• Santa Maria del Popolo.
In Piazza Del Popolo another pair of Caravaggio's—The Crucifixion of St. Peter and the Conversion of Paul—are free for the looking at Santa Maria del Popolo. It's not always easy to sit in silent meditation of these paintings. A good long look, however, followed by some quiet reflection in the church, is very rewarding.


















• The Ecstasy of St. Teresa, Santa Maria della Vittoria.
This is far enough away from the center to be a little less populated by tourists, so I think it's worth the hike. And unlike the Caravaggio paintings you can sit to face the sculpture head on.


















• Temple of Aesculapius, Villa Borghese.
This is a 19th century folly, not a true temple, but it's a nice place to sit and read, think, write or draw. The park is also a great place to run and the Galleria Borghese holds a lot of fantastic art.


















• A Walk Across the Bridges
Begin in the morning or as the sun begins to fade with Ponte Fabricio, the oldest bridge in Rome. Make your way to the Trastevere side after crossing Isola Tiberina (the island). Turning right on the other side, you'll reach Ponte Garibaldi which you'll cross back to the other side. It's worth a stop on Ponte Garibaldi to behold the mesmerizing dance of the recyclables in the falls below the bridge. Don't miss this strangely beautiful phenomenon. Repeat this zig-zag pattern until you reach Pont Saint Angelo, with Bernini's angels flanking each side, and then head back. Some mornings around 9:00, on Ponte Sisto, you'll find the most emotionally demonstrative accordionist in the city. He's a little Asian man who faces the sun with his eyes closed, his entire body swaying with the music as he plays. And he can really play with sincerity and emotion, unlike a lot of the clowns who make money in the center.


















• The Protestant Cemetery
Behind the old city wall and spilling out of the base of the Pyramid is the Protestant Cemetery, the burial place of non-Catholics and foreigners in Rome. Shelley and Keats are buried here and it's a remarkably peaceful place whose walls keep the din of the city at bay. There are plenty of places to sit and you can wander for a couple of hours from row to row in search of interesting lives which have passed through Rome over the centuries.














• The Palatine Hill at Sunset.
From the top of the hill at Piazzale Ugo di Malfa (the crest of the long hill running along the south side of Circo Massimo), take in the ruins of the Palatine on the other side of the field. At sunset, the warm bricks and austere arches and towers are really beautiful, and you can really gain a sense of the privileged vantage point of the aristocracy in Ancient Rome, when chariots raced in the Circo below.














• Bonus Spot.
If all else fails light the torches on our lower terrace at night and sit at the table. Looming above, you'll see the remains of the great round entrance hall of the Baths of Agrippa, constructed in about 19 BC. The past, and Rome has plenty of it, gives pause to present concerns.